“Okaeri,”
Diane said in a singsong voice when I opened the door.
“I’m not saying it,” I said, kicking the toes of my shoes against the raised floor until they slipped off my feet.
“Oh, come on,” Diane whined, appearing around the corner. She’d draped her navy-and-pink-flowered apron over her teaching clothes, and the smell of curry rice wafted from the kitchen. “If you want to learn Japanese, you have to use it all the time.”
“Not interested,” I said. “I’ve been speaking it all day. I need some English right now.” I strode past her and collapsed onto the tiny purple couch in the living room. It was ugly, but definitely comfortable.
“So how was school?”
“Fine.”
Other than the part where half the school looked up my
skirt.
I picked up the remote and started flipping through variety shows. Bright kanji sprawled across the screen in neon pinks and greens, quoting outrageous things guests said. Not like I could get the joke, of course.
“It’s curry rice again. I got held up with the Drama Club meeting.” Diane stepped into the kitchen and lifted the lid of the pot, the spicy fragrance wafting around the room as she stirred.
I flipped the channel, looking for something English to watch, some reminder of the fact that I was still on the same planet.
“And how was cram school?” The rice cooker beeped and Diane shuffled over to turn it off. I leaned back so my head faced the kitchen upside down.
“It was crammy,” I said.
“Could you at least set the table?” She sighed, and then I felt guilty.
“Sorry,” I mumbled. I flipped the TV off and tossed the remote onto the couch, setting plates on either side of the flimsy table.
I hadn’t known Diane much before Mom’s funeral, but she’d never struck me as the motherly type. She’d spent most of the service shoving hors d’oeuvres at everybody with a fake smile, like she was a balloon ready to pop. She’d insisted on my calling her just Diane. I think “Aunt” emphasized the fact that her sister was gone, and made her feel like we were some sort of dysfunctional family, trying to keep going after the fact. Which, of course, we were.
She’d picked me up at the airport with the same over-excitement, waving wildly at me to make us even more of a spectacle. “Katie!” she’d screeched, like this was some kind of fun vacation, like we weren’t terrified of each other.
The bullet-train ride made my ears pop and sting, and once we got to Shizuoka, I stood out even more. There were a lot of
gaijin
in Tokyo, but in Shizuoka I rarely saw anyone foreign.
Diane lifted the lid of the rice cooker, and steam swirled out, fogging up her glasses. She reached for my plate and paddled the rice on, and then dumped a ladle of curry on the side.
“Great,” I said.
“You mean ‘
itadakimasu.
’”
“Whatever.”
“So any new friends yet, or are they still being shy?” Diane sat down and mixed the curry and rice together with her chopsticks. I pushed my rice into a sticky mound and dug my fork into a carrot.
Well, let’s see.
Cute guy on the train from another school, and
annoying senior who has it out for me at my school.
But friends?
“Tanaka, I guess. He’s Yuki’s friend.” Big mistake. Diane clasped her hands together and her eyes shone.
“That’s great!” she said.
“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “I figure it won’t take too long to settle the whole will dispute. I’ll be in Deep River before we know it.” Diane frowned, which looked almost clownish in her thick plum lipstick.
“Come on, it’s not that bad here with me, is it?”
“Why would it be bad in a country where I can’t even read where the bathroom is?” Speaking was one thing; even writing phonetic hiragana and katakana had come without too much study. But learning two thousand kanji to read signs and newspapers was a slow, grueling process.
“I told you, it’ll take time. But you’re doing great. And you know Gramps still isn’t in the best of health. It’s too much of a strain on them right now, at least until we know the cancer is in remission for sure.”
“I know,” I sighed, pushing my potatoes around in the thick curry.
“So tell me about Tanaka.”
I shrugged. “He’s into calligraphy painting. Tall, skinny, pretty loud when he comes into a room.”
“Is he cute?”
“Gross, Diane.” I slammed my fork down in disgust.
“Okay, okay,” she conceded. “I just wanted you to know that we can talk boys, if you need to.”
“Noted.”
“Do you want some tea?”
I shook my head. “I’ve just got some kanji sheets to write out and some math homework. Then I’m going to bed.”
“No problem. Do your best.
Ganbare,
as they say.” Diane’s cheerful tone had returned. I rose to take my plate to the sink.
“Like I give a shit what they say.”
“Hey, watch it. You know your mom wouldn’t be impressed with that kind of talk.”
I paused, thinking of Mom. She was always a prude, which is why I was stunned to find out she’d dated someone unpredictable like Dad. Maybe he’d set her on the straight and narrow after he ran out on her. Kind of like Yuu Tomohiro was doing to Myu now.
“Sorry,” I mumbled. “I just had a crazy day.”
“I just… I hope you’ll be a little happier here with me,”
Diane said gently. It was about the most serious voice I’d ever heard from her, and I suddenly felt like a jerk. She’d always been the piece that didn’t fit, Mom said, the one searching for herself on the other side of the world. Kind of the way I felt now. And even then she’d opened up her tiny world here for me when I’d needed her the most.
“You’re right,” I said. “I’ll try.” Diane smiled, and I wondered if she realized we were both lost now, adrift together but somehow alone.
The moment over, I headed to my room to suffer writer’s cramp copying pages and pages of kanji.
I was sure Yuu Tomohiro would be waiting the next morning, leaning against the Suntaba plaque on the gate. I’d flipped through my dictionary after cram school, perfecting what I was going to say to him. When he wasn’t there, I wondered whether I felt more relieved or disappointed.
I slid into my seat behind Yuki, putting my book bag on the ground and reaching in for my textbooks.
“Ohayo,”
Yuki said, twisting in her chair.
“Morning,” I said. “You didn’t see Yuu come in, did you?”
Okay, so I was just a little anxious to know. I was ready to take him on and get some answers.
Yuki shrugged. “Probably early morning
kiri-kaeshi,
” she said.
“Early morning what?”
“You know, for Kendo Club.”
“Morning!” Tanaka sang as he burst into the class, strid-ing toward his seat.
“Okay,” I said, “he’s got way too much energy for the morning.” I lifted my hand in a feeble wave. Tanaka nodded at us and broke into a huge grin. The conversation with Diane surfaced like bad heartburn, and I turned to look at my desk, desperately ignoring the fact that Tanaka was a little cute. Jeez, thanks, Diane. I did not need to be looking at one of my only friends like that. What if I lost both friends over a dumb crush? Life was complicated enough right now.
I shoved the feeling down and concentrated on the cover of my textbook.
Advanced Mathematics. Fascinating.
“Did you decide which clubs to join?” Yuki said.
“You should at least join English Club,” said Tanaka, inviting himself into the conversation. Yeah, English Club wouldn’t make me stick out. But Tanaka looked so sincere and I really only had the two friends… .
“Okay, okay.”
“Yatta!”
Tanaka said, throwing his fist high in the air.
“No fair!” whined Yuki. “You have to join at least one club with me.
Sado? Kado?
”
“Kado?”
“Flowers.”
“I have allergies.”
“Then Tea Ceremony. You get to have cakes and learn the roots of Japanese culture…?” Yuki sounded like a brochure, but I was starting to crack under the pressure. Anyway, it wasn’t like I wasn’t interested in Japanese culture—just homesick, disoriented. Orphaned.
“Okay,” I relented. “Sado it is.”
Suzuki-sensei stepped into the room. We stood, bowed our good-mornings and opened our books.
I scribbled notes from the board but pretty soon got bored and started doodling. And as I sketched flowers and snails down the margins, the eyes of the inky girl from Tomohiro’s drawing flooded my thoughts. I didn’t think I was coming apart at the seams—why would I be seeing things?
The look on Tomohiro’s face when he’d grabbed the drawing out of my hands still bothered me. Half anger, half worry.
What was he trying to hide? He’d got some girl pregnant and humiliated me in front of the school. But I was pretty sure he’d also lied to Myu about how he really felt. And the smile he’d given me when I was up in the tree—like we were on the same team, like we were friends…
I felt itchy suddenly, my head throbbing the way it had when I’d stared at his sketch. I kept picturing the inky girl looking at me, the way her hair curled around her shoulders. I could hear the birds singing in the park, the water in the moat sloshing along. I could feel the breeze on my skin.
The corner of my notebook flipped up, lifted by a cool spring wind. Wait, that couldn’t be—we were indoors, and the windows were shut. Then the whole side of the book started to ripple.
The f lowers I’d doodled started to bend in the breeze.
One of the petals fell to the little bit of ground I’d sketched.
A snail tucked himself into his shell.
Is this happening? Is this real?
The pen was hot in my hand and I gripped it tighter, watching the pages of my notebook f lutter in the wind, watching the snails leave glittering trails across the page…
Watching as they turned and came toward me, mouths full of sharp, jagged teeth I didn’t know snails had, teeth that I hadn’t drawn… .
The pen shattered beneath my fingers, drowning the doodles in ink. Shards of plastic flew across the room and scattered on desks and floors. Students shouted in surprise, jumping back from their desks to their feet. Suzuki-sensei whirled around from the board.
“What happened?” he snapped.
Tanaka and Yuki stared at my hand, covered in ink.
“Katie?” Yuki whispered.
“I—I’m sorry,” I said, my throat dry.
And then I saw Yuu Tomohiro standing in the hallway, his startled eyes watching me, his fingers wrapped around the door frame. He looked almost afraid. Had he seen it, too? Or maybe—maybe he’d caused it.
“Go clean up,” Suzuki-sensei said, and I forced my head to nod. My chair squeaked as I pushed it back to stand up, the whole class staring at me. Ink dripped off the side of my notebook and onto the floor.
“Sorry,” I choked again and ran into the hallway.
When I got there, Tomohiro was gone.
I ran to the washroom and scrubbed my hands, splashing water on my face.
I stared at myself in the mirror. I looked thin and frightened, barely there.
The ink spiraled down the drain. I carved lines through it with my fingertips.
There was no way this was a hallucination. The whole class had seen the pen explode. And the drawings definitely moved. I could still smell the murky moat water; the breeze had left tangles in my hair.
And Tomohiro had been there when it happened, just like before.
I splayed my inky fingers under the rush of clean water.
He was doing something to the drawings. I just didn’t know what.
“Ready to go?” said Yuki.
We stepped out of the
genkan
door and into the courtyard, Yuki and Tanaka laughing about something Suzuki had said—I’d missed that joke, too. The sunlight was streaming down, and a gentle, warm breeze blew through the branches of the
momiji
and
sakura
trees.
I took a deep breath and looked up at the gate to the school.
He wasn’t there.
Relief flooded through me. At least I could put off my planned confrontation for now. I just needed time not to think, time to forget everything that had happened.
Except I couldn’t. It was all I saw every time I closed my eyes.
I wanted my life with Mom back. I wanted to be normal and not see drawings move.
I started to giggle along with Yuki, pretending I understood the joke, pretending I wasn’t shaking inside. But Tanaka suddenly shot out his arm.
“Oh!” He pointed. “It’s Tomo-kun!”
You’ve got to be kidding.
I looked up, and there he was, leaning against the stone wall and chatting with a friend. The other guy had bleached his hair so white it looked like he was wearing a mop on his head.
“Introduce us!” Yuki squealed. “We can get the whole story about Myu!”
“Please don’t,” I whispered, but Tanaka was already running across the courtyard. Yuki grabbed my arm.
“Come on!” she said, squeezing my elbow and rushing us forward.
“
Oi,
Tomo-kun!” Tanaka shouted.
Yuu Tomohiro looked up slowly, his eyes dark and cold.
His friend sagged back against a tree trunk, watching us approach with mild amusement.
“It’s me, Tanaka, from Calligraphy,” said Tanaka, panting as he stopped beside them. He placed his hands on his knees and then gave Yuu a thumbs-up.
Yuu’s face was blank at first, but then remembrance flickered into his eyes.
“Oh,” he said. “Tanaka Ichirou.”
“This is Watabe Yuki and Katie Greene,” Tanaka said.
He didn’t reverse my name because
gaijin
never put their last names first. Yet another way I stood out. Yuki bowed, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I squeezed my hands into fists and tried to do the same with my fear—I tried to squeeze it into anger.
Tomohiro didn’t bother to introduce his friend or say hello to us. He leaned his head forward slightly so his bangs fell into his eyes, then exchanged a side glance with Bleached Hair. I got the message—they wanted us gone.
But Tanaka didn’t clue in. He laughed, nervous, grasping for things to say.